Hide With You
by DarkTaoAngel
Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he’d end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy’s bedroom. HPDM [Post HBP]
1. Chapter 1

-1_**Hide With You**_

_**Chapter 1**_

**Genre: Romance/Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Author: DarkTaoAngel**

**Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he'd end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy's bedroom. Post HBP (but there are no Horcruxes in this fanfiction).**

Draco Malfoy swayed on his feet, clutching his wand tightly in his hand and fighting to stay standing. His silver hair fell limply around his terrified face, which was drenched with sweat, as he prepared himself for another attack. His hands were shaking, and every counter-curse he uttered either ended up being easily broken or failed to work properly.

"_Crucio!_" Lord Voldemort shouted again, and Draco felt once more the sensation that his body was on fire, starting on the inside. His school robes -- which he was still wearing -- were torn and stained with blood as his knees scraped against this cold stone floor and he fell to his hands, his wand flying from him and landing some feet away. He reached for his wand as the curse shot through him, but his body was trembling so much from the repeated use of the Cruciatus Curse that he was unable to grasp it, even when he fought its power enough to see past the blinding pain.

He gasped as the spell was lifted, drawing in large, shaking breaths, the clear air burning his lungs. He knew he had failed his master, Lord Voldemort, the moment he had realized that he couldn't complete the mission assigned to him. He hadn't expected a more lenient punishment, but he still had a strong desire to live, and he knew from the way his whole body was aching that he probably would not.

"_Sectumsempra!_" Voldemort's harsh voice rung out, using a spell -- probably told to him by his newly reinstated Death Eater, Severus Snape -- on Draco, causing what felt like an invisible sword to strike across him. He let out a cry of pain as blood seeped from beneath his slashed robes, creating a puddle around his legs and staining his pale skin a deep burgundy.

"Please… I tried… I did the best I --" Draco began, his voice shaky and unusually high-pitched, until Voldemort cut him off.

"Liar! You didn't do nearly the best that you could have; your cowardice showed through and you were very much tempted to join sides with Dumbledore. You must have known you'd have to be punished for failing your master," Voldemort said, his chillingly sharp voice echoing against the torch-lit rock walls. Seeing the horrified look cross Draco's face, he added, "No, I won't kill you. You may still prove as some use to me."

Draco's heart leapt; he wasn't going to have to die after all. But as a cough erupted from his throat, producing a considerable amount of blood, he thought that _certainly_ he wouldn't live much longer like this anyway. Not that he was afraid of dying, but whenever he had pictured it in his mind, he had imagined a much more noble death, not one featuring him bleeding to death on the ground, alone and defenseless.

Voldemort laughed shrilly as the boy attempted to stand, only to be brought back roughly to the ground, but he lowered his wand all the same. He wasn't sure if Draco would live or not, but he wasn't about to help him. He deserved what he got, and this would serve as his repentance for his weakness.

The Dark Lord's slitted red eyes glared once more bloody boy before, in the swish of a cloak and steadily fading footsteps, Lord Voldemort walked a few paces and apparated on the spot. Draco watched him go, a sinking feeling washing over him as he realized how powerless and alone he was.

He leaned over painfully and grabbed his wand, which was just outside of the stream of blood, and buried it within his bloodstained robes as he staggered to his knees and leaned against the wall behind him to steady himself. He struggled, pushing his back on the sharp stone, to his feet, his legs shaking and his eyes closed tightly. He cringed as he felt the uneven surface of the wall break through the skin on his back and, stopping every few seconds -- though it felt more like hours to him -- to catch his breath, he managed to stand up straight, his legs quivering under his weight. Tears welled up silently in his eyes as he pushed himself away from the wall completely.

_Please, take me anywhere, _he thought, not even caring about where he would end up, _as long as it's far away from here._ And with that he spun around, almost falling, and with a loud crack, he apparated.

_(Page breaker)_

Harry Potter twirled his wand absentmindedly in his fingers, sitting with his back pressed against the backboard of his bed at Number 4 Privet Drive and staring at the plain white ceiling with a bored expression etched on his face. One of Dumbledore's last wishes of him were that he returned to his home in Little Winging once more before he turned seventeen, which he would in another month, and so he had been confined to his bedroom for all forty-eight hours since his return back to his 'home'. He would have left mere hours -- minutes, even -- after arriving if it wasn't for the simple fact that he had nowhere to go except for the Burrow, to which he hadn't been yet invited, though he was hoping to be soon.

Harry hadn't heard from any of his friends yet, and though he hadn't expected to so soon after leaving Hogwarts, he still wished that at least one of them would give him some sort of sign that he wasn't forgotten. He felt very much like he had three years ago, when he'd been kept in the dark by the entire wizarding world for most of the summer. Even Dumbledore -- his throat constricted slightly at the thought of the man who had treated him so much like a son, and who had been murdered only one year previous -- hadn't told him anything about the Order until he was back at school again.

Harry ran his fingers through his messy, jet-black hair, contemplating the idea of doing some of his homework while he waited for someone to contact him. The Dursley's -- luckily enough -- were out shopping for a present for Dudley finishing another year of school (though Harry had no idea how), and wouldn't be back for at least another half-hour, so Harry was free to do his schoolwork out in the open for once.

His trunk lay open at the foot of his bed, his Muggle clothes removed from it and stored instead in the small oak dresser by the door to his room. A few spellbooks that he'd managed to look through were arranged sloppily on his desk, next to a few bottles of ink, a quill, and a long roll of only partially used parchment. His Firebolt, which he'd received nearly four years ago, was still untouched in his trunk, along with his school robes and some potions supplies from the year before. Hedwig's cage was empty; the owl herself had gone hunting that morning and still hadn't returned.

Harry stood from his bed and set his wand neatly in his trunk, having only taken it out in the first place on an impulse, still knowing that he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school until he turned seventeen, and gathered up a few books, some rolled parchment, and his quill and ink, and set them all on the foot of his bed. He pulled his homework planner -- which he'd gotten from Hermione and had reluctantly been forced to use until he'd gotten into the habit of always writing in it -- and consulted with it to find that he still had Transfiguration and Charms essays to finish, as well as one from Divination that he hadn't even bothered starting. He was just about to turn the page of _The Standard Book of Spells - Grade 6, _however, when a loud cracking sound echoed through the room.

He spun around, eyes searching for the source of the noise. Harry knew that sound -- someone had just apparated. He'd heard it many times; five years ago a house-elf had apparated into his bedroom that very same way, and only three years afterward Mundungus Fletcher had done the same thing in the streets of Privet Drive.

Within seconds he found who had done it; a large bundle of robes lay beside his bed, ripped in several places and concealing most of what looked like a boy around his age. Blood spotted the boy's clothes, which Harry recognized as Hogwarts robes, and he would have thought him dead had it not been for the occasional groaning coming from him. Being extremely gentle, Harry rolled the boy over to get a better look at his face.

His eyes were closed and his eyebrows furrowed, his pale skin was streaked with blood, as was his equally pale white hair. There were several cuts on his face, and it was only safe to assume that his face wasn't the only part of him that was wounded. Harry was surprised that the boy was still alive, but that wasn't the only thing that shocked him.

"M-Malfoy?" he gasped, watching as the face of his long-time rival contorted in pain, but Draco didn't seem to hear him; he was breathing very heavily and many of his cuts were still bleeding. Without thinking, Harry carefully began removing Draco's damp, bloodstained robes to see what sort of wounds lay beneath.

Draco didn't seem to notice what was going on, he didn't even seem aware of where he was. With a jolt, Harry remembered what he had said just months before, _"It won't work… and unless I do it soon… he says he'll kill me…." _It had been by accident that he'd overheard this, but it had never really occurred to him that Voldemort would go so far as to actually try to _kill_ Draco….

Harry stripped Draco down to his boxers -- which he never would have been able to do had Draco actually been conscious -- and, throwing aside the blood-soaked robes and gently lifting the boy onto his bed, let his eyes sweep over the suddenly fragile-looking body.

Dozens of fresh, deep slash marks coated his torso, a few of them trailing up to his face. Harry's heart sunk as he saw a number of diagonal cuts that had turned into scars, almost shining against the blood, which he remembered very clearly having cast the _Sectumsempra_ spell that had caused them. And judging by how deep some of the other wounds were, Harry was almost positive that they were the remnants of the very same curse.

Harry pulled his eyes away from the horrible cuts long enough to think of what to do about them. He had his wand, he could always use that to heal some of the shallower ones, but he still wasn't old enough to do magic, and even if he knew a spell that could mend wounds -- which he hadn't yet learned -- he still doubted whether some of the deeper, more serious ones would be healed by a simple spell. His Aunt and Uncle might have had a first aid kit somewhere, but he knew that the only way to heal a magic cut was to use magic. He thought for a minute, and then it came to him.

"Dobby!" he called, hoping that he, wherever he was, would still answer to Harry's call. He didn't even think of Kreacher, who would probably not have been of much help anyway, though he'd never really had much of a soft spot for him anyway. He was about to call the name again, when another loud crack signaled the arrival of the house-elf.

Dobby bowed so low on seeing Harry again that his long, brown nose almost touched the floor, his large pile of hats tottering between his large ears. He was still wearing the mismatched socks and oversized maroon sweater that had been given to him by Ron, but he was also donning at least five new scarves and a small, red children's shoe on his right foot.

"What does Harry Potter require of Dobby, sir?" he squeaked, his eyes still fixed on the floor as he bowed. It really was amazing that all of his hats -- there had to be dozens of them -- stayed on, even as he leaned over.

"You can mend cuts and things like that with your magic, right?" Harry asked, and as Dobby nodded, he pointed silently to Draco's still form. He saw the elf's green eyes widen as he looked at his former master.

"Master Malfoy?" he whispered, "But Harry Potter, sir, what happened?"

"There's no time for me to tell you that! Just, please, can you do something?" Harry asked, a slight note of panic in his voice, though he wasn't quite sure if he actually cared about Draco being hurt, or if it wouldn't have mattered who it was.

Dobby nodded again and, fixing his gaze on the cuts along Draco's arms first, he placed his hands a mere inch above the torn flesh, moving them over each cut. The wounds healed before their eyes, knitting together the skin as Harry had seen Snape do last time Draco had been hurt with the _Sectumsempra_ spell.

Harry left the room and ran to the supply closet the floor below, searching its contents until he found a small first aid box. He knew it wouldn't help much, but at least the gauze would stop any of the deeper gashes from bleeding again if they reopened.

When he returned to the room he found Dobby standing by the bed, smiling slightly, but still looking ever troubled. Harry saw that Draco's wounds were all healed, though there were still places where it was visibly noticeable that there had been cuts. Most of the blood was gone, too, though there was still a fairly steady stream of it from a particularly nasty slash across his chest.

"Thanks Dobby, you did a great job," Harry said, and the elf's large ears seemed to perk up slightly at this.

"Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!" he said in his high-pitched voice, and with another crack, which filled the room with a light smoke, he was gone.

_(Page breaker)_

Harry had finished dressing Draco's wounds and was waiting for the boy to wake up -- which he was sure wasn't going to be any time soon -- when he heard a car pulling in the driveway. He started; he had completely forgotten that the Dursley's were supposed to be home soon. As quickly as he could, he ran across his room and slammed his door shut, covered Draco's body almost completely with a blanket -- though making sure that he could still breathe -- and listened hard for the sound of footsteps, which he heard within moments.

But the Dursley's never came up to his room, but went about their business as usual. He was thankful that they weren't paying much heed, but he couldn't help wishing that they had at least said _something_ to him.

He turned his attention instead to the pale boy still sleeping in his bed. He hadn't really thought about it, but it was strange that Draco had ended up in _his _bedroom when he had apparated. He was sure that he hadn't chosen the place he would reappear at, but it was still peculiar that he had ended up in the same room as his sworn rival.

Harry also couldn't help but wondering why Voldemort hadn't killed him. He could have simply used the _Avada Kadavra _curse and been done with it, but he had chosen instead to torture Draco to death. Surely no one, not even someone this spiteful, deserved to be killed that way.

Had it not been for the steady rising and falling of his chest, Harry wouldn't have been quite sure whether Draco was alive or not. His hair was still stiff with dried blood, and there were silver scars painted across his slightly fretful face. A hand next to his face was clinging to the blanket draped over him, and his body was curled somewhat as he slept.

Harry smiled sadly, thinking back to when he'd seen Draco, crying in the bathroom the year before. Why hadn't he noticed then? He'd been too busy fighting the other boy's spells to really think about it then, but Draco seemed really fearful of something. _Or someone, _his mind persisted, _It was Voldemort. Anyone would be afraid if _he_ threatened them, even someone like Malfoy._

Draco wasn't as brave as everyone thought he was. He certainly tried to be, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. The only time he'd ever really tried to hurt someone had been in his sixth year, on Lord Voldemort's orders, and he'd backed down because of Dumbledore. He hadn't wanted to do it, he'd been forced to.

"What are you doing up there, boy?" the harsh voice of his uncle, Vernon Dursley, carried up to Harry's room from downstairs, interrupting his train of thought. He frantically looked from the door to Draco, who was still asleep, but look as though any noise would wake him up.

"Um… I-I'm reading… school books," Harry promptly made up, even though it wasn't technically a lie. He had been reading earlier. He heard Vernon's footsteps fading away, and let out a sigh of relief. How long could he keep this up, pretending that he was doing schoolwork and making sure no one found out about Draco? He would take care of the hurt boy no matter what. He only felt so protective of him because he was injured, not because of who he was. Harry had never felt anything for him at all, never. Had he?

He saw Draco's eyebrows knit together in pain and frustration, and he felt the sudden urge to hug the other boy, and to comfort him from whatever was giving him such nightmares. But he did nothing, simply stared sadly at Draco's scarred face, which suddenly looked much calmer.

Harry didn't know how he was going to protect Draco from Voldemort, who would most certainly be looking to kill him this time, but he knew that he would definitely try.

**Author's notes: This first chapter didn't turn out as well as I pictured it, but I'm satisfied as to where the plot is going. There aren't going to be any Horcruxes in this fanfiction, because I didn't want to write my own version of the seventh book (which is coming out soon! I can't wait!), so this is only what happens during the summer between years six and seven. I plan on including some time at the Burrow, but I still need a few more ideas, so if you have any, let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

-1_**Hide With You**_

_**Chapter 2**_

**Genre: Romance/Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Author: DarkTaoAngel**

**Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he'd end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy's bedroom. Post HBP (but there are no Horcruxes in this fanfiction).**

Harry turned the page in his book, _Advanced Transfiguration_, with his bright green eyes only half open, his hands only barely holding the book open as he scanned the pages, not really taking in any of the information and re-reading the same sentences several times over without anything sinking in. He had been up all of the previous night keeping watch over Draco, and making sure that his aunt and uncle didn't come into his room for any reason. The bright sunlight streaming through the open window signaled that it was already morning, its rays casting eerie shadows against Draco's pale blood-stained hair and skin. Harry let his eyes close and his head tip forward slightly for a moment, before jerking himself awake and mentally shaking himself for letting only a single night's missed sleep get him so tired.

Draco moaned slightly in his sleep, and Harry, a bit less than reluctantly, tore his tired eyes away from his book -- which was now somehow turned to the first page again -- to see if he was at last waking up. The other boy had been occasionally coughing or groaning as he slept, but he hadn't woken up yet, which worried Harry because he'd been asleep for almost a day with no sign of getting any better. The scars on his face haunted the raven-haired boy, who thought of them as ghostly lines drawn across such an otherwise flawless face, and would rather not have to think about the pain that was caused as each curve was etched deeply into such pale flesh. There were several painted, rather long and sloppy compared to the ones on his face, down his arms as well, which were at some points of the night hanging limply over the edges of the bed, but were now resting neatly on top of the blankets in front of the silver-haired boy, delicately placed one on top of the other as Draco lay on his back, eyes closed restfully and mouth slightly ajar.

Harry frowned, eyes tracing the midnight black Dark Mark visible on Draco's left arm. He hadn't really paid it much attention the night before, nor in his rush to save the other boy, but there it was, burned into his skin like some disgusting scar. It was pure onyx in color, a large skull with a long, coiling snake protruding from its mouth; the blank stretches of skin within the shape shone brilliantly, almost white, against the shadowy tattoo. It was dark because Voldemort was back; because he was powerful again.

Had Draco gotten the mark by choice? With the threat of his entire family being killed, he had had no other option but to become a Death Eater. Harry rather doubted that he wanted to be, or ever had, because he'd run away from all of that after failing his master. But just how much pain had he had to endure before he was even _able_ to flee from it?

Harry threw his Transfiguration book rather haphazardly onto the nightstand beside the chair he was sitting in and leaned forward slightly, his eyes still following the glimmering tattoo. Unconsciously, without even realizing it, he traced the serpent shape with his right index finger. A light pain twinged in his scar, but he ignored it -- it had been happening far too often for him to even notice it sometimes.

Harry thought he saw Draco's eyelids flicker somewhat, and he retracted his hand from his arm embarrassedly, but still didn't remove his gaze from the other boy. Just when he was about to give up hope that the young Malfoy was at last regaining consciousness, however, Draco's eyes opened completely, and Harry was left staring awkwardly into those light silver orbs and wondering what to say next.

"Potter?" Draco asked confusedly, his voice rather scratchy and soft, as he hadn't used it in more than a day. Harry nodded, and that action seemed enough for the Slytherin to gain back his snappish attitude. "What am I doing _here_?" he asked, with mild disgust that he hadn't even bothered to hide apparent in his cold voice.

Harry rolled his eyes, wondering for a moment why he had even bothered to help _Malfoy_, when he'd never showed a singled bit of caring toward the dark-haired boy.

"Because I _saved _you, that's why," he said, putting extra emphasis on the word 'saved' as though that was enough to end the conversation. For Draco, however, it was not.

"Save me?" he scoffed, "I could have just as easily saved myself without your help." But as he said this he tone of voice changed to one that suggested that he was racking his brain to find the next insulting thing to say to Harry, even though he couldn't possibly think of anything cruel to say to the person who so obviously had saved his life. Harry noticed, just barely, out of the corner of his eye Draco frantically covering his left arm with the bedcovers.

Harry, by now thoroughly annoyed with the other boy that he didn't even want to look at him, turned away and pretended to be instead extremely interested in the cabinet by his door, which in truth held no form of interest in him whatsoever.

"So, Potter," Draco spat Harry's last name as though it was painful to say it, but with not nearly as much contempt as he'd used with him before, "who mended my cuts, then? Certainly it can't be you, you're not even of age yet." he said, and Harry thought it was painfully obvious that he'd been trying to make what had happened to him seem like nothing by calling them 'cuts' instead of wounds or gashes.

"Dobby the house-elf healed them," Harry stated simply.

"Gross, you let that _thing_ near me?" he sneered, but Harry could see a glimmer of thankfulness behind his disdain for his former family servant.

A few minutes went by in total silence, broken only once by a bloody cough from Draco, which caused a slight ripple of worry to well up inside Harry, but it was gone before he was even aware of what it really was. And then, as though making up his mind about something, the silver-haired boy pulled back the blankets, swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that he was in a sitting position and, wincing greatly, attempted to stand.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Harry asked incredulously, watching as Draco swayed on his feet, pushing himself away from the bed to stand weakly, cringing all the while in pain.

"Leaving; what did you think?" he retorted, a gasp following his remark as he leaned over slightly, moving his hand so that it rested over his now-healed rib, which was still stinging as though it had just been broken again.

"Look at you! You can't even stay on your feet for more than a minute; how are you supposed to apparate?"

"Look, Potter, you may not be able to stand any amount of physical pain, but I'm not you." And to prove his point, he spun clumsily on the spot, as though to disapparate, but only managed to stumble over his own feet, his legs trembling. Harry leaned forward about a foot and, sticking his hands in front of him as though the whole scene had been rehearsed many times over, caught Draco with one sweeping motion.

Harry spun around -- much more gracefully than Draco had done -- and looked down at Draco, who he was still holding tightly in his arms, at least two feet above the ground, and a triumphant smirk settled itself on his face at the sight of his growing glare. Neither of them seemed to notice at first the awkwardness of their position -- Draco, who was still in only his boxers, being held up by Harry, his sworn rival -- until after a few seconds Draco spoke.

"Put me down, will you?" he growled, a light pink creeping on his cheeks, which he dismissed as his rage showing on his face. Harry complied, gently, though not as much so as he had been when Draco had been unconscious, setting him on the bed once more and smiling down at him.

Draco hurriedly pulled the blanket over himself and turned so that he was facing the wall opposite Harry.

"Whatever," he said angrily, settling himself more comfortably in bed and shifting occasionally to avoid positions that caused him the most pain, mumbling under his breath something along the lines of "Could've done it myself."

"G'morning to you, too, then."

_(Page breaker)_

Draco kept to himself most of the day, remaining in bed, huddled closer to the side Harry wasn't sitting by. He wasn't awake half the time, but when he was he refused to talk to Harry, and muttering things under his breath that Harry couldn't hear. Harry was rather horribly reminded of Kreacher.

Harry kept to his room for the majority of the day, occasionally poking some owl treats into Hedwig's cage -- as she had returned just hours after Draco had woke up -- and paging through his schoolbooks, though not making an effort of work on any of his homework. He'd only left his room to use the bathroom and eat whatever poor meals the Dursley's would let him have. He'd been thinking of ways to sneak food the Draco, who had insisted that he wouldn't have eaten anything from Muggles if he'd been paid to do it, and had managed to grab a bit of food from the fridge while the Dursley's were away and Draco, going against his word, had eaten it anyway.

"So," said Harry, looking over his old Charms book at Draco, who had just a minute before had his back to him, but was now facing his direction, though avoiding his gaze. It was almost nighttime; the sun was already sinking low over the horizon, and the silence was finally starting to bother Harry, "feeling any better?"

Draco raised an eyebrow; why should the 'Chosen One' care whether or not his enemy was alright? He glanced quickly at the Dark Mark on his arm before nodding, still looking anywhere but Harry.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked, and in answer to Draco's bewildered look he gestured to the dark tattoo that he had been looking at only a few seconds before.

"No," he said definitely, but added in an undertone that Harry wasn't supposed to hear, but did, "No physically, anyway…"

"Um…" Harry said, racking his mind for something to say that would get Draco's thoughts away from Voldemort, but he was beat to it.

"Listen," Draco's voice was full of seriousness, "I don't know why you're helping me, but you should know that, after I'm better, we're still enemies. This doesn't change anything."

Harry nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Why was that? Why did he feel like, by Draco leaving, he would be losing a dear friend? It wasn't as though the two had ever really been on speaking terms, but Draco had been the first wizard of his own age that he'd met, and it wasn't as though they completely detested each other. Draco hadn't ever really meant anything important to Harry, but at least he had cared about him when he'd accidentally hit him with the _Sectumsempra _curse the year before. In fact, Harry couldn't even remember why they'd become rivals in the first place.

"I know," he said quietly, again searching for a change of subject, but when none came, he said, more firmly, "I know. I felt like helping you this once, because the alternative would have been letting you die, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would not let anyone else die because of me. But we are in no way friends." he added, shooting Draco a glare that didn't seem to fit, when what he really wanted to do was smile and tell him otherwise. Draco seemed to catch this, because he added, in an extremely cold voice,

"This changes _nothing_."

"Fine," Harry said, in what he thought was an end-of-the-conversation voice. Draco turned away from him, and Harry turned to his book again as though nothing had happened, though this time he couldn't even focus on a single word.

_(Page breaker)_

Draco was sitting up in bed, four days after his arrival in the middle of Harry's bedroom, reading the Quidditch book _Flying with the Cannons_ with only mild interest. Harry had let him choose any book he wanted to read to avoid conversation and, after mocking several of Harry's reading materials, he had picked the only one that was about the sport that they could both agree was the best. He had been able to sit up for almost a day, though standing was still out of the question. The scars still coated the flesh on his face, arms, and chest, but there was no longer blood in his hair or on his face; Harry had supported him to the bathroom sink while the Dursley's were out shopping and had helped him wash his hair, which Draco had defiantly said he could most certainly have done on his own. Harry had also borrowed him some clothes -- a long, dark blue t-shirt and grey sweat pants, which were far easier to put on than jeans, especially considering Harry had to help him get dressed as well -- and they had fit him very well, though they were rather baggy, having been Dudley's old clothes.

Harry had given up on trying to read with no success, and was instead playing wizard chess against the opposing game-pieces, who seemed to have minds of their own. He had offered to play with Draco, who seemed to be far above playing games with a Gryffindor, and he had so rudely turned him down. He scowled as one of his pawns was taken by the red team (he was playing for white) and looked up at Draco, who looked at him from over his book with his eyebrow raised yet again.

"What?" he asked, though he didn't seem to find it in him to say it with hatred or anger; he and Harry had been getting along a bit better just by not saying anything to each other, and he didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't even stand without Harry's help, so he didn't exactly want to kicked out before he got better.

"Did I say something?" Harry asked innocently, mimicking Draco by raising an eyebrow himself.

"Whatever," Draco said, and returned to his book, which he would never admit he found interesting, though he did. Draco had finished reading the entire book already, though, and was too stubborn to ask for another one, so he'd been letting his mind wander for the past few hours. What would he do once he was feeling better?

Voldemort would never accept him as his Death Eater, not after he had fled to the home of his enemy (accidentally, of course). He couldn't return to his family, because his father was a Death Eater already, and his mother was a follower of Voldemort as well, and even if they accepted him back into their family, they would be put in danger by protecting him. He needed a place to stay, and was even slightly happy that Harry was letting him stay for so long. He was grateful, he really was, even if he had a hard time showing it.

But just when Draco was about to throw away his pride and ask -- demand -- another book to read to take his mind off of things, something appeared in the window that did that for him.

A large, brown tawny owl swooped gracefully through the open window, a small scroll rolled tightly and tied around its leg. It hooted strangely dolefully, and it stretched out its leg to Draco, who removed the parchment with a surprised look on his face. Who would be sending him a letter?

Hedwig gave the intruding owl a haughty look as it soared back through the window, and Harry found her on his shoulder a second later, demanding attention. Harry, who was too busy watching the other boy open the letter with a shocked look etched on his features that he paid her no mind, and she clicked her beak impatiently and she, too, soared out the open window.

Draco unrolled the parchment and read the name on the front in silence, his eyes widening with each word. He hadn't even begun reading the letter itself, and was already dreading what it might say. It was from a Death Eater that was looking for him: his father, Lucius Malfoy.

**Author's notes: This chapter was better than the last, I think. I'm not going to skip straight into romance, because I have to write a plot, too. I got the Deathly Hallows today (after waiting at the bookstore for four hours to get it) and I'm trying not to read it all at once, so don't tell me how it ends if you already know. I don't want to finish it too soon or I'll have nothing to do for the rest of the summer (though I'll read it at least twice before reading another book), and I want it to be a surprise. Thanks to everyone for their reviews; I'm going camping tomorrow, so I don't know if I'll be able to update for the next few weeks, so review lots while I'm gone so I have something to look forward to when I get back!**


	3. Chapter 3

-1_**Hide With You**_

_**Chapter 2**_

**Genre: Romance/Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Author: DarkTaoAngel**

**Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he'd end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy's bedroom. Post HBP (but there are no Horcruxes in this fanfiction).**

Draco's eyes scanned the letter, with Harry waiting patiently next to him, and he reread it a second time before its full contents really sunk in. The writing was bold and slanted, written extremely neatly in a deep green ink. It read:

_Draco,_

_I'm having this letter traced as you read it (hoping, of course, that this borrowed owl is able to find you), and with any luck I will be wherever you are within minutes to fetch you. The Dark Lord knows what you've done, and if you come quietly, he's promised to spare your life. I do hope you understand the seriousness of what you've done by running from, and practically _defying,_ the Dark Lord, and as your father, I will not tolerate such behavior much longer. By rejoining the Death Eaters, you guarantee your forgiveness. I am sure you'll make the right choice._

_--Lucius Malfoy_

Draco looked up from the parchment with wide eyes, his skin a ghostly pale, his hands nearly shaking, though he was fighting to remain still. They would take him back, even after all he'd done? He'd run from Voldemort, and surely, once they found out where he'd been staying, they wouldn't be so quick to accept him again. They'd kill Harry, the only person who had shown Draco any kindness beyond simply torturing him and still letting him live.

Draco realized then that Harry was looking at him, his bright, emerald green eyes fixed unmovingly on his light grey ones. He turned away quickly, focusing instead on the letter, running his eyes over it again in an attempt to find anything he'd missed, any sign of him getting away without being punished. Nothing in it said that he'd be hurt, but he knew that if he was allowed to live, Voldemort would make sure that he only barely survived.

"They--They're looking for me," Draco said, fully aware of how much his voice was shaking, in answer to the silent question he felt that Harry was pushing on him. "The Death Eaters," he added. He handed the letter to Harry, who took it and read it without speaking. He ran his hand through his messy hair, threw the parchment aside, and stood up, pulling back the bed sheets that Draco was still slightly clinging to as he did so.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand for the other boy to take. When he didn't, however, he said, "Get up; I'm going to get you out of here."

Draco extended his hand slightly and then, seeming to think things through a bit, withdrew it with a suspicious look.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked, and Harry merely shrugged and grabbed Draco's hand in his own, pulling the blond off of the bed. Draco stumbled over his still weak legs -- Dobby didn't seem to have fully healed the bones that had broken, only realigned them -- and if Harry hadn't been there, he would have fallen completely. Instead, he fell on Harry.

Harry looked shocked for a second, but smiled after a moment and pulled the silver-haired boy a bit closer, and Draco, with his eyes closed tightly and his face pressed against Harry's chest, looked as though he was going to let him, until he seemed to come to his senses. He pushed away from the raven-haired teen, mumbling a quick "Thanks," and steadied himself so that he was standing on his own.

"Do you think you can apparate?" Harry asked, changing the subject when he saw how embarrassed the other boy looked. Draco thought for a moment, but then shook his head. He had no idea why he was so willing to admit that he couldn't do something, especially something so simple, but somehow he knew that Harry wouldn't laugh at him for it. They were both in danger; now wasn't the time to slip back into their childish rivalry.

"I'll do it then," Harry said, leaning back so Draco could put his arms around his neck and pulling his legs up from the ground so he was carrying the blond boy on his back. Draco was surprised at how strong Harry was, especially for how thin he was, and he knew that he was once again thrown into another awkward position of Harry having to carry him. Six years worth of insults and taunting were discarded the moment the 'Boy Who Lived' was so willing to help his rival, and Draco hoped that, once this was all over, they would be friends, at least.

Harry turned on the spot and Draco had to cling to the other boy to keep from slipping. He wrapped his arms tighter around Harry with his face buried in his neck, his legs around his waist. Both boys felt the familiar claustrophobic sensation, like some sort of compression inside them, against their lungs, until they reappeared moments later outside a cluster of apartments with streetlights surrounding them, between numbers eleven and thirteen.

_(Page breaker)_

"Why would anybody want to live _here_?" Draco asked in a disgusted tone, pulling back a set of graying, worn curtains carefully, looking as though he would rather not touch anything, but was still too curious to keep from examining everything. At once, a horrible scream filled the air, full of insults being carried through the hallway in the high-pitched shouting of Harry's godfather, Sirius's dead mother's portrait. Draco put his hands over his ears, stepping cautiously away from the picture as though something else may wake up and start yelling if he made any sound. Harry, however, who was perfectly used to this by now, pulled the curtains roughly over Mrs. Black's face, muffling her voice, which was currently screeching something about 'blood traitors.'

"You will be, _Malfoy_, unless you want to go back to the Death Eaters," Harry said, turning back to Draco, who looked away, but didn't answer.

Harry had taken Draco to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, because it was the only place he could think of being safe enough that they wouldn't be found. He had expected someone to have been there when he'd arrived, but there wasn't. He had wondered why, at first, the Order wasn't using Number Twelve as their headquarters anymore, but he assumed that it had something to do with Dumbledore's death. Still, the magical enchantments surrounding the place would hopefully prove strong enough for them both to stay protected until they could come up with a better plan.

Harry had forgotten to take his school trunk with him when he had apparated, but he'd hopefully be able to get it back later, once he was sure it was safe to apparate back to Privet Drive.

"Kreacher!" Harry shouted, as the house-elf stalked past, clutching several old white plates and goblets bearing the Black family emblem in his long-fingered hands.

"Yes? What does Master wish of Kreacher?" the elf asked in his wheezy voice, hurriedly stuffing the heirlooms behind his back, murmuring vicious insults in an undertone so that Harry could barely hear when he was called something along the lines of 'filthy half-blood.'

Kreacher turned his eyes on Draco next, looking at him curiously, before his dark brown eyes widened in such a way that reminded Harry of how Dobby's eyes were normally.

"Sir Malfoy?" he asked, and Draco looked mildly disgusted by a creature his family would consider 'beneath them.'

"Kreacher, this is Draco Malfoy," Harry said, forgetting momentarily that he was going to confiscate the items the elf had stolen. It had completely slipped his mind that Draco was, however distantly, related to his godfather and the entire Black family.

Kreacher bowed so low to Draco that his long nose was almost touching the hardwood floor, bowed greatly less to Harry, and shuffled off to the boiler room, where he would no doubt be storing the treasures he'd taken.

"What was _that _all about?" Draco sneered, still glaring at the spot where Kreacher had left.

_(Page breaker)_

Draco muttered a soft 'wow,' fingering the golden letters that formed his name, as well as that of the rest of his family, on the Black family tapestry. Harry smiled amusedly from behind him, still surprised that Draco hadn't known his relation to many of the people whose names were sewn neatly on the hanging arras. He had simply assumed that all pureblood families knew each other, and though Draco had scoffed that several of the names (many of which already had burn marks where their pictures had been), Harry was still glad he'd shown him this.

"I'm going to go get something to eat, are you coming or not?" Harry asked, thinking of how little he'd eaten all day and knowing that Draco had eaten even less. Draco shook his head almost immediately.

"I think I'll stay here for a while longer," he murmured, eyes still focused on the dozens of names covering the tapestry. Harry was reminded of himself, many years earlier, when he'd first come to Hogwarts and discovered the Mirror of Erised. Noting the transfixed look on Draco's face, Harry was sure this was the same thing. He missed his family, and although most of his relatives were still alive, he couldn't be with any of them, and that look of longing told the raven-haired boy that no matter how cruel the Death Eaters were, they were still his family.

Harry looked back at Draco as he left the room, realizing as he did so how alike they were, and how needy Draco could be, even through the mask he wore on his emotions. He was only human, after all. How hard must it be, knowing that your own family wants you to return to the servitude of a master who had almost killed you -- and would possibly try again? That the chances of seeing your family again were almost none?

Harry found the kitchen with ease -- it lay just off the hallway below the long spiral staircase -- but his mind was so focus elseware that he almost passed it by completely. It wasn't quite as dusty as the rest of the house, probably because it was used by the Order for meetings nearly every day when they were still assembling for them. Now that it was deserted, it felt kind of lonely to Harry, who had only know it being full and like home to him. He remembered Sirius laughing from across the table, and it felt like he was looking through a camera, replaying precious memories of his life that seemed long forgotten. He missed those days the most.

And again his mind wandered to thoughts of Draco, and how he must feel, being thrown into danger, out of his comfort zone, away from his family.

Harry found -- surprisingly -- enough ingredients in the large, though empty, kitchen to make sandwiches, though he knew that he would somehow have to go shopping sometime that week to buy more food. He made one for himself, and one for Draco, who he knew must be hungry. The allure of that tapestry worked like the mirror on Harry, who would have spent his entire life in front of it had Dumbledore not had it moved. But Draco still needed to eat something.

Harry made his way back to the room as slowly as he could, giving Draco more time to himself. Once he did find the room, he eased the door open slightly and peered inside to see the silver-haired boy still gazing at the family tree, though sitting on a chair in front of it this time. Harry opened the door all the way and Draco looked up at him, surprised.

"Here," Harry said, handing him the food. He expected some snide comment or refusal to eat anything made by him, but none came.

"Thanks," Draco said, smiling a bit. It wasn't a very large smile, but a rare one, and it made Harry's heart beat a little faster nonetheless. Why was that? he wondered. Why was it that everything Draco did made his heart get lighter and his mind start to race?

_(Page breaker)_

Harry spent most of that night thinking about Draco, too. Though they had separate bedrooms, Harry still felt like he was seeing more of Draco than he did during the day, in his thoughts, his dreams. He didn't know why, but he was constantly thinking of _Draco Malfoy_, his lifelong rival, as though they had always been friends. But that couldn't be right; those thoughts he was having weren't of he and Draco being _friends_.

_But I've got Ginny! _he found himself chanting in his mind, _She's my girlfriend!_ But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He hadn't even heard from her for months, and last time he had talked to her, it had been to end things between them.

Harry growled, burying his face in his pillow and trying to block out his thoughts, but he couldn't. He didn't know why, but the new Draco, the Draco who he'd saved and who had been staying with him at Grimmauld Place, seemed so much more tolerable, almost _nicer_ than the Draco he had known at Hogwarts. And he found that he liked that side to Draco. He _really _liked it.

Harry rolled over onto his back and he could feel his untidy hair sticking haphazardly around his face. He groaned, looking at the clock out of the corner of his eye. It was morning already, and he hadn't gotten so much as one minute of sleep.

He pulled back the covers and pushed his hair out of his eyes, removing his glasses from the table by his bed and putting them on as he clambered to his feet. He yawned as he changed into his clothes, and he didn't even bother making the bed, but left the room for the kitchen immediately.

Harry had been sleeping in the same room he had been when he'd last come to Number Twelve, and it was still just as empty and dark as it had been back then. The blank stretch of muddy canvas was still hanging on the wall, being the only 'picture' in the room, and the lightest color as well.

When Harry arrived in the kitchen minutes later he was greeted by an extremely sleepy-looking Draco, who, by the looks of it, had made breakfast for the two of them.

Harry took his seat at the table diagonal from Draco, and saw that the silver-haired boy had finished his meal already, and was paging through an old issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Draco looked up from the paper when Harry sat down, but he averted his gaze almost at once.

"Wow… um… thanks," Harry said, looking down at his eggs, sausage and toast and wondering how someone like Draco, who had grown up in an extremely wealthy family, knew how to cook in the first place.

"It was… the least I could do," Draco said, in a tone that made him sound completely unlike himself. "You did save my life." And Harry was shocked to hear that Draco was admitting that he'd needed saving anyway, not to mention that by saying that it was like Draco was saying 'thank you,' which was something that Draco hardly ever said.

And then it happened. Draco smiled again, still not very much, or very big, but still a smile that Harry knew was genuine. And Harry felt his heart beat faster than he thought was possible, and before he knew it, he was doing something he thought he never would have in his entire life. He was kissing Draco Malfoy.

**Author's notes: Sorry for not updating for a while; I was camping for two weeks, and just got back a week ago. I hope this update makes up for the wait. So… the kiss. We all knew it was bound to happen, and I'm not sure if it turned out exactly how I wanted it to, but I'm satisfied, because we all know they both wanted each other from the start. I do have a plot, but I'd still like a few ideas, because sometimes focusing on only plot can be boring, even for me. So let me know what you want to see happen next. And I apologize for the long author's notes, too. Anyway, review and I'll get working on the next chapter as soon as I can, and I'm writing a RemusSirius fic now, too, so that should be posted any time now. **


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hide With You**_

_**Chapter 4**_

**Genre: Romance/Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Author: DarkTaoAngel**

**Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he'd end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy's bedroom. Post HBP (but there are no Horcruxes in this fanfiction).**

Draco gasped as he felt Harry's lips connect haphazardly with his own; he could feel the other boy's hands tangling in his hair, and his mind was working frantically to register what was going on. Harry Potter, his most hated enemy, was kissing him, but that wasn't what was scaring him the most. It was that, although unexpected the kiss was, it wasn't altogether unenjoyable.

A light rouge was rising in Draco's cheeks, and before he could even sort out whatever feelings he had for Harry, he felt himself pushing away from the raven-haired boy, blushing embarrassedly and once again avoiding his gaze. But what of Harry he could see out of the corner of his eye told him that the other boy was fighting between apologizing, kissing him again, and running away.

"Um… listen, I…" Harry began, trying to think of what to say to make Draco believe that he really did like him, and that it wasn't a joke, which is what he could imagine the other boy thinking. After all, Harry had never really shone any liking for Draco, though he had always wished that things would have turned out differently between them.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Draco said, cutting Harry off, his voice a bit more cold sounding than he'd wanted. He didn't really need to take a shower, because he'd taken one only hours after they'd arrived at Grimmauld Place, but he _did_ need some time to think. He reached down to the floor and grabbed a wooden cane which, though embarrassing to admit, he had been using to get around for the past day since he still couldn't walk very well on his own.

He leaned on the cane and turned away from Harry, wincing as the top of the stick pressed harshly against his sore ribs. He limped away, trying to move as fast as he could, and when he was out of the kitchen he let out a sigh. He pressed his back to the wall nearest him and tried to catch his breath, gingerly touching some of his wounds, which still hadn't completely healed. He didn't understand; he had given it plenty of time, and his old house-elf had worked on sealing up some of the more shallow cuts, so why wasn't he better yet?

He gently moved his cane -- which was tall enough to be a crutch and Draco used it as such -- under his arm and made his way slowly to the bathroom.

Once there, Draco turned the water in the shower to the warmest setting and removed his shirt, looking in the mirror by the sink at all of the thin scars covering his arms. Several small lines were cut on his face, and one particularly long one ran from the left side of his neck to his right hip. He didn't have any bandages around his chest anymore, but it still felt as though a few of his ribs were broken. He knew he should have gone to St. Mungo's a long time ago, but with Voldemort's Death Eaters after him, he would be lucky if he was ever able to go out in public again.

He removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower, throwing aside his walking stick as he did so and letting the hot water wash over his cuts. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, and an image of Harry flitted into his thoughts immediately.

When he really thought about it, the kiss hadn't been all that unexpected. He had been quite a bit nicer to Harry during their time together, and he should have noticed what a change that had brought about in the other boy as well. But what was he supposed to do about it? He had certainly enjoyed the kiss, however brief it had been, and he had to admit that Harry's presence was sort of… comforting. He wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for Harry.

Turning off the water and wrapping a towel around his waist, Draco knew what he had to do and, even more, what he wanted to.

_(Page breaker)_

Harry sighed, shaking his head slowly. How could he have been so stupid? Draco had finally started being nicer to him lately, and all of that would certainly end now. What would Draco think of him? Would they still managed to forge some sort of friendship, even after what Harry had just done?

Harry's head snapped up and his train of thought was broken upon hearing a dull tapping coming from the hall; he knew it must be Draco's crutch hitting the carpeted floor, and his mind began frantically thinking of something to say. But before he could come up with some kind of excuse, an alibi of any sort, the other boy had stuck his head through the door and was staring at him intently with those chilling blue eyes, and all thoughts escaped Harry's mind. He could only think of Draco, and how good he looked with his hair wet and messy, his shirt clinging to his skin and falling over one shoulder, and how much he wanted - _needed_ - him.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I just… I wasn't thinking… I was…" Harry said in a rush, trying to salvage what was left of his pride, which was futile at this point. Nothing he said could change the fact that he'd kissed Draco, the very boy he was currently _staring_ at. And Draco, Harry realized, as the other boy made his way toward him, was staring right back.

"It's okay," Draco said, interrupting Harry's rambling. "You're helping me, letting me stay here. Besides," he grinned, "it wasn't all that bad, really." And before Harry knew it Draco's lips were against his own in a quick, chaste kiss, before the blond sauntered off, looking altogether smug and completely happy with himself.

_(Page breaker)_

The day dragged on slowly and was filled with Harry and Draco's own version of complete bliss. It was as though they'd been seeing each other for years, the way they could easily talk to one another, spent time together, and were content in the presence of the other. Of course, they still managed to fight over who would cook, wash dishes, and go shopping. Harry was elected to go shopping, mainly because he didn't win arguments that easily, and Draco could be very persuasive, but also because he had his invisibility cloak and could slip outside easily without anyone noticing as long as he didn't open the door very far. He knew that muggles couldn't see Number Twelve at all, but any Death Eater that was looking for either Harry or Draco would be certainly able to find them if they weren't careful. And, knowing Voldemort, Grimmauld Place was being watched secretly by Death Eaters constantly.

"Draco, I'm going shopping now," Harry said to the blond, whose back was turned as he washed the dusty Black family dishes.

"Whatever," Draco scoffed, and Harry, entirely unintentionally, smirked; Draco was obviously getting more comfortable in Grimmauld Place than he had been when they'd first arrived.

"Okay then, _Malfoy_," Harry said, putting stress on the last word, "I'll just be back whenever I feel like," he said as he made his way to the door through the thin hallway separating the kitchen from the winding staircase.

"Oh no won't," Draco warned, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck from behind. "You'll be back as soon as you possibly can."

"Alright, fine, but I have to go now or I won't get back before dark," Harry conceded, turning around and kissing Draco quickly, hurrying out the door before the blond could see the blush steadily creeping up his neck.

_(Page breaker)_

About an hour after Harry had left, Draco was stuck alone on the sofa, fiddling idly with his wand. He'd never realized how lonely he could get until Harry had left, and then he had been hit with the sensation so suddenly. He enjoyed Harry's company, he really did, though he'd never really thought their relationship could go past rivalry. Now he just wanted Harry's comforting presence, because although he'd never admit it to anyone, he really was scared. Scared of what Voldemort would do to him once the Death Eaters found him - because he knew he couldn't head them off forever. Scared of being thrown out by his family for refusing to become a Death Eater like his father. And most of all, scared of when Harry would realize fully what he was doing and reject him.

Draco sighed, propping his walking stick up against the couch. That was another problem, he knew; none of his wounds seemed to want to heal. He'd been hit by the Sectumsempra curse before - unintentionally by Harry - but those marks had long turned to thin, barely noticeable scars; something about the way these new wounds kept reopening told Draco that there was probably something more than just the one spell involved.

Hearing a soft rapping at the door down the hall Draco was shook from his train of thought. He rolled his eyes, knowing it was Harry and wondering why he was too lazy to open the door on his own. Then again, he may have bought quite a few groceries too many and couldn't have opened the door. Either way, Draco pulled himself - wincing - to his feet, positioning his cane under his arm and making his way slowly to the door.

The knocking came again, this time much harder than before, and Draco quickened his pace as best he could, shouting, "Just a minute Harry; can't you wait?"

When Draco reached the door he saw that the doorknob was being shaken impatiently, which was odd, because if it was Harry, he could have just opened the door on his own if he could reach the knob so easily. Draco, still a bit leery, still knew that nobody but Harry and himself knew about the location of their hideout, so he opened the door with only a little bit of apprehension.

But what he saw on the other side of the door was most definitely not Harry.

_(Page breaker)_

Harry, arms laden with groceries – which were difficult to carry under the invisibility cloak without dropping anything or making himself been seen – was just crossing the street to Grimmauld Place. He'd been gone an hour longer than he'd expected, but had had a lot of things to buy and a lot of trouble buying them without being seen. He'd slipped the food under his cloak in a muggle store and, on his way out, had deposited the correct amount of money to the nearest cashier while she wasn't looking; that way, he'd been able to pay without risking been discovered.

Harry's eyes scanned across the street to Number Twelve, and he was surprised to see that the door was wide open. What was Draco thinking? The Death Eaters could have seen the house if the door was open the entire time! What if they had?

"Draco?" Harry asked, running inside and closing the door tightly behind himself, throwing the bags in the corner and searching for the blond. "Draco, where are you?"

He tore through the halls, worried because Draco had yet to answer his call. When he reached the end of the hall he listened through the kitchen for a moment before he heard a muffled yell. Prying the door open, he saw Draco, nearly unrecognizable because of the blood in his hair and coating the front of his shirt, held by one man on each side, both in black cloaks, and a third man standing at the front, boring his eyes into Harry's. And it hit him as he saw the familiar long blond hair of the man, and the faces of the other two as he's seen before in Tom Riddle's graveyard.

The Death Eaters had found them.

**Author's Notes: You can all complain to me about how awful this chapter was, or how short it is, or how long it took me to finish it, but at least I got it done. I've been working on my own original fiction lately, so I haven't had time to work on fanfictions for a while. I'll try to update a bit more often than I have lately – thanks to those who've waited this long! – and again, I apologize for the crappiness of this recent chapter. I haven't been reading Harry Potter lately, so I'm sure the characters were OOC (I know they were, because Draco would never be that cute in real life). Next chapter will be better, I promise.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hide With You**_

_**Chapter 5**_

**Genre: Romance/Drama**

**Rating: T**

**Author: DarkTaoAngel**

**Summary: Draco had greatly upset his master, leaving him severely beaten and alone. Badly wounded, he used his remaining energy to disapparate. He had no way of knowing that he'd end up reappearing on the floor of his sworn enemy's bedroom. Post HBP (but there are no Horcruxes in this fanfiction).**

xXx

Harry stared, brilliant green eyes wide with shock, as Lucius Malfoy approached him, sauntering in such a smug way that would, on any other day, had made Harry disgusted with his own anger, burning in his throat and tensing his already tightly clenched fists. But not today; the sickness creeping its way up Harry's lungs and into his mouth, leaving a slightly metallic taste in its wake, was entirely unrelated. Pure, feverish, unrelenting fear. He found himself, against his own will and control, completely terrified.

Draco pulled his head up just slightly, so that Harry could barely see his dull grey eyes above his horribly slouched figure, slumped over in what appeared to be pain. Blood clotted through his hair and around his face, over his cheeks and ending where it pooled in his open mouth. His arms were clenched tightly by tall, broad Death Eaters on either side of him, supporting him in their black-cloaked arms none too gently, hoods up over their faces. But, even with such obscured features, Harry could still tell, however dimly, the identities of the two men from the subtle way they leaned where they stood, bodies pulled back, revealing brief glimpses of several facial traits that were hard to mistake. They were, without a shred of doubt, the elder Crabbe and Goyle, fathers of Draco's only two friends. Traitors, they were, though Harry wouldn't say it out loud. Especially Lucius, betraying his own son for the Dark Lord.

Harry tried moving his legs, willing his feet to take a step forward; for, certainly, if he could move, there must be some way he could save Draco. He slowly motioned his hand to his back pocket, searching as inconspicuously as possible for his wand, but the attempt was in vain. He couldn't have cast a good enough spell on the spot as it was, even without Lucius's sudden appearance close to his front, wand pointed directly at Harry's exposed chin and throat.

Lucius's hood was pulled down to rest between his prominent shoulder blades, revealing an ever-gaunt face, grey eyes – identical to his son's but for the excited fire that seemed to burn within them at the thrill of an easy victory – boring into Harry, appraising him as though he were a trophy to be presented, thin lips taught into a quivering line, one side uplifted into what could have been a slight smirk or a casual smile, or both, as it was. The fist around his wand-hand was coated with blood, knuckles crimson with the sickly glow of his own son's pain, in return for his praise. A sharp wave of anger stole through Harry quickly, shocking him into full consciousness just minutes too late. He swayed where he stood, chin jutting up as Lucius's wand tapped it impatiently, and watched Draco out of the corner of his eye as best he could. The other boy looked beaten, defeated, hands limp at his sides, wand broken at his feet. Harry blamed himself, really. It could have been him there, and Draco needn't have been harmed at all. Voldemort wanted Harry, didn't he? What would the Dark Lord care if that didn't include Draco Malfoy?

"Well, Potter, nothing to say for yourself, I see," Lucius spoke, his voice drawling, deep and casual with his pleasure at the turn of events in his favor. "That's fine with me, you know. Pushing your filthy values on my son, you're lucky I don't kill you _where you stand_." He spat out the last three words, stressing them, pushing the words out as though they were something disgusting he wished Harry to be touched by. He prodded his wand harder into Harry's jugular, tip pressing so harshly Harry knew there must be a bruise there by now.

Sweat beaded on Harry's forehead as he fought with several options at once, trying to decide what would be the best thing to do in this situation. He thought about trying to fight, but he knew he would never win; even if he somehow managed to beat Lucius, there were still Crabbe and Goyle to worry about, and he knew, even as idiotic as they were, if their master instructed them to guard someone, they would do that to the best of their abilities, even if it meant threatening Draco's safety, something Harry didn't want to jeopardize. He thought of stunning them all that running as far as he could, but to take Draco with him would make him all the more obvious and easy of a target should Voldemort decide to send more Death Eaters after him. The only option, really, was to go with them, without a fight, and escape from there. But what of Draco? Would he honestly survive that long? And would Harry be able to rescue him, too, should he be unable to safe himself?

It seemed like hours, days, but in reality was only minutes, before Lucius finally spoke again, but it surprised Harry that it wasn't to him that the man was speaking. "Crabbe," he said, and his tone of voice was quicker, more excited, less drawling, as though he had come to a final decision and meant to act on it now. The cloaked man on Draco's right nodded with a grunt, shaking the blond boy as his broad torso lumbered forward slightly. Lucius nodded as well, and continued, "the boy is unconscious now, am I correct?"

Crabbe reached one meaty hand to the nape of Draco's thin neck, pulling at a small scruff of silvery-blond hair and forcing the small boy's head up with it as he tugged harshly. Harry bit back a strangled cry, managing to allow only a whimper to escape his lips. Draco's head lolled to the side, letting Harry see fully the damage done to his face; several bruises dotted his cheeks, marking his eyes and forehead with darkening spots of deep purple. Scratches marred the sides of his face, and blood crusted around his nose and mouth, and poured lightly from a large crack just below his hairline. Draco's eyes were dull and barely open; the blond boy was completely unresponsive to Crabbe's pulling, the man grunting, pleased, as he tugged Draco's head back and forth, showing Lucius a display of his handiwork and confirming the question the man had just directed at him. Harry unconsciously stepped forward, drawing his wand as Lucius faced Crabbe for that brief moment, but Draco's father was quicker and more aware than Harry could have anticipated. The wand still at his throat went silently to his heart, and with a quick, unfamiliar incantation and a satisfied mutter of 'good' from Lucius, Harry felt the world around him growing dark, blurring around the edges and slipping beyond his vision. He fought with it for as long as he could, and he remembered himself moving forward as if to fight, and falling, hard, painfully. His eyes, though he willed them to stay open, fell closed of their own accord, and he was unconscious before he could even feel himself being lifted into Goyle's strong arms and toted somewhere he'd never been before, and could only hope he would never have to be ever again.

xXx

The first thing he remembered when consciousness returned to him was the cold, the terrible, unbearable cold. He wondered briefly where he was, but then, with a sudden flooding rush, he remembered Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, Draco.... His eyes, which he had been unaware were closed up until that point, shot open painfully, and as they fought with the surrounding darkness, Harry himself fought to stand. Something hard, a metal of some sort, had him pinned to the wall, and he assumed that was the source of the sudden cold running through him. His wrists were chained, as were his ankles; his neck was free, but the chains around his limbs were so short, his could only crane himself so far before it became painful. As his eyes steadily adjusted, he found himself to be in a cell of sorts, bars mere yards from his body, blocking his only exit should he somehow find a way to free himself from the binding. The ground was hard, cold stone, stained in several places by a deep liquid the name of which Harry knew he would rather not find out. There was a stocky guard by the door, but the man in the deep ebony cloak didn't even turn as Harry fought with the chains, pulling on them with all the strength he could muster. He felt weak, and his head was swimming as though he was been hit with something extremely heavy just recently; he wondered for a moment whether it was the spell Lucius had placed on him to knock him out, or if the really had been hit.

After struggling with the chains for a length of time he could not be certain of, Harry finally allowed himself to give up, sit down, and ascertain his surroundings better. The first thing that hit him as he sat, forcing all of his senses into full control, was the sound; a loud, far-away yell reached his ears at almost the exact second he relaxed himself, and he wondered briefly whether it had been there before and he simply had not noticed it. As he listened, another voice broke the silence, shouting harshly at the first, booming loudly and angrily. The first voice had been softer, weaker, more _frightened_, and had long since stopped altogether. Harry waited, but the sound didn't come back. What replaced it, however, was a stiff, long cry of the same frequency, sounding as though it had come from the same person. When it finally hit Harry who exactly that yell had come from, who he had momentarily forgotten in his half-conscious stupor, it was too late, and all sounds around him had stopped to be replaced by an eerie, foreboding silence, so thick he thought he could almost see it. With one ear-splitting scream, Draco's voice had been silenced.

Harry pulled at the chains harder than ever, hands frantically searching for his wand, even though he knew the attempt was in vain; Voldemort would have made sure it was taken from him, made certain that every possible method of his escape had been terminated. He could feel his wrists growing numb from the constant effort, and he thought he could almost smell blood from somewhere on himself, but he didn't feel the need to look. He probably looked horrible, all things considered, but he wasn't worried for himself.

Quick footsteps sounded just outside of the cell Harry was in, echoing softly as they tapped the stone floor roughly. Harry looked up in time to see the guard, who up until that point had remained silent and still, move quietly from his post. Just out of his range of vision, Harry could hear the bolt of the cell door open with a sharp click, and the rustling of robes from somewhere to his right.

"You'd better behave yourself better next time, boy, or you can be certain Harry here won't be the last among us to die in this place," a sharp, harsh voice spat, throwing the body of a young boy into the cell beside Harry. Lucius was sneering when Harry finally managed to crane his head up enough to see his face, but his eyes were smoldering with hatred. Apparently, Draco hadn't given his father what he had wanted. Harry could only wonder what the man had done to his son before sending him to be locked up like this. What sort of father did that to their own child?

A clicking noise sounded as the door was bolted shut again, and Lucius's quick footsteps resounded again before they slowly died out. Harry stared after him, waiting for him to turn around, address him in some way, tell him Voldemort was coming for him or something, but nothing happened. Lucius just walked away, leaving the still of definite silence in his wake.

A groan jarred Harry's mind back to the present, and he saw Draco out of the corner of his eye, slumped over against the hard stone wall, facing downward, hands clenching methodically on the ground. His eyes were open, conscious, but he wasn't speaking. His face and arms were covered with long, jagged cuts, and his neck and hair were caked in both dry and fresh blood.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, trying to get the other boy's attention. "Are you alright?" Of course, it was obvious he wasn't, anyone could tell, but a response was all Harry was looking to get, any sign that Draco was, at the very least, responsive.

"I…" he heard Draco reply, voice worse than he'd pictured it would be, hoarse and strained, as though each word cost him precious time, caused him pain. He cringed. "I look like hell, Harry; what do you think?" Harry bit back the urge to grin. Just like Draco, trying to lighten the mood even when it was impossible. Draco's grey eyes flickered up and locked with Harry's for a moment; one was slightly puffy and discolored, bruised and only half open. Harry shuffled as best he could so that he was facing the other boy, who leaned against him as though even his own weight was hard to carry in the condition he was in. Harry could feel blood, warm and slightly sticky, between his fingers as he put his arm around Draco's shoulders for support, but his heart still raced a bit from the small embrace. He was just happy Draco was there, with him, alive, and nothing else seemed to matter.

"So, how do you suppose we get out of here?" Harry sighed, fingers circling subconsciously on Draco's shoulder. He could feel Draco shift to lean his head back, eyes looking up as best they could.

"I don't know. How did we get in?" Draco asked, hands still clenched into fists on the floor; Harry guessed he must be in more pain than he let on, though he was very good at hiding it.

"Honestly? I have no idea. I was about as conscious as you were, the whole time." Harry could almost feel Draco grin beside him. Of course that would be slightly humorous to him.

"They beat you? _You_?" He snickered, cringing almost immediately afterward. "I thought you were the 'Boy Who Lived' or something."

"And I thought you were a Death Eater, but here you sit." And Draco couldn't argue with that, hard-pressed to admit defeat as he was. The pair sat in silence for a long while, Harry still twirling various designs on Draco's arm, Draco cringing every few minutes as he moved around to get comfortable, cuts all along his torso and arms being upset by the sudden position changes.

Suddenly, in one single, abrupt motion, Harry felt Draco slide out of his hold, placing his hands firmly on the floor, palms facing the ground, pushing himself to his feet with them. He staggered, eyes shut tightly, legs shaking weakly, almost exactly the same way they had not long before, back in Harry's own bedroom. He pressed forward, hitting the cell bars painfully, and his knees seemed to buckle at the same moment his hands gripped the steely metal. He fell back to the ground, cursing silently, and Harry swore he could hear the tears in those choked words he said.

"Dammit!" he shouted, voice cracking sharply. "We're never getting out of here, are we?"

And, as if in answer to his question, the footsteps began again, bringing with them not Lucius, but a different form on evil entirely.

xXx

**Author's notes: Ah, it's been so long! Too long, really. I'm terribly sorry I've not updated anything lately, especially not this story. I know how many of you have been waiting, and I really wish I could give you something better in compensation than this horrible chapter. But, if you'll accept this one, I'll get to work on a better one as soon as possible. This story is almost over, if anyone can believe it. Two, perhaps three, chapters yet, though. Also, to those of you that have been reading this story since the beginning, can anyone tell the difference in my writing style since the first chapter? I hope I've gotten at least a bit better. Thanks for reading (and reviews would be fabulous)!**


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